Upend
by ifwednesdaywasaflowerchild
Summary: Post Ep. 'War Cries', in which Nell is most definitely not alright and Callen finds his world is tilted off its axis in the aftermath of her interrogation-gone-wrong with Robert Brown. Hints of Nallen with Sam and Deeks friendship and Worried/Brooding!Callen.
1. Off Balance

"She alright, G?"

To be honest, _his_ world is tilted a bit off of its axis at the moment and short of stopping completely, time had seemed to slow considerably when he had busted into the interrogation room, catching a glimpse of Nell over his partner's shoulder. It was certainly not a sight for sore eyes, or any eyes, really, because there was Nell - sweet, beautiful, strong Nell being held in a choke hold with the suspect doing everything in his power to use her own weapon against her. And, it had been clear she was losing the fight to keep him from pulling the trigger; her shallow gasps and blown pupils were both indicators of an inability to breathe and she was only able to keep his arm so far from her body.

"She, um," if he has to blink the tears away, Sam either doesn't notice or chooses not to say anything. God, how he was reminded of the Inman case, and how it had been with suspiciously damp eyes, that he informed Hetty that he was through playing Granger's game, that almost getting Nell killed was it. "Yeah. She'll be fine."

Sam Hanna is not fooled by his partner's brush-off.

G. Callen was nothing if not a burden carrier, seeming to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, and right now, he was drowning himself in guilt. While, subconsciously he might know that he had sent Nell in _before_ it was known, Brown was dangerous, he still felt responsible for her. For the fact that she's sitting at the table gritting her teeth against the sting of stitches being pulled through her skin.

"It's not your fault. Not by a long shot, G." he watches Deeks pull his jacket off and wrap it around Nell's shoulders, encouraging the young woman to slip her arms into the sleeves, to ward off the chill that shock could induce. When she's done as he requested, he zips it up, and taps her nose gently. Despite his initial hesitation and indifference toward the L.A.P.D detective, he has to admit the shaggy-haired man is shaping up to be a damn fine man and, should he ever desire to make it official, a good agent. "Nell is more than capable of handling herself. She proved that the minute that knife went into Brown's leg and shoulder."

"So," Deeks approaches with a satisfied grin. "Brown won't be using his shoulder for a while."

"Why's that?" Sam inquires when his partner remains almost catatonic.

"Extensive tissue damage, severed ligaments, and a torn muscle." the blonde detective winces, not in sympathy for the suspect, but rather at the thought of such a small person being able to do so much damage. "Oh, and that hit he took to the leg? Apparently, Nell's aim was spot-on. She hit his femoral artery with almost surgical precision."

"She's good, G." Sam claps his partner's shoulder before motioning for Deeks to follow him. "C'mon, man. You've been a damn good friend, let me buy you a drink."

"Well, I can't argue with that." Deeks laughs, sobering slightly as he glances back at Nell. "But I think I'd rather be here with her."

"I've got her, Deeks." Callen murmurs, regarding the detective with something resembling respect. "Go on, before Sam retracts his offer."

Deeks nods, touching Callen's shoulder briefly in a show of camaraderie, before leaving with Sam. The boatshed empties as the medics finish, giving Nell a clean bill of health, and prepare to vacate with the premises, under the guise of it being a prank call from a payphone, nearby. Untraceable and not worth a full investigation that prank calls could sometimes entail. By the time, they arrive back at the hospital, Hetty will have already straightened the whole ordeal out. The circle of medics around her slowly breaks until the last medic, an older gentleman with a daughter about her age, taps her on the nose and leaves, orange first-aid bag in hand.

There she is.

Sweet, beautiful Nell Jones perched on the table, swinging her legs like a child, while her hands squirm restlessly in her lap. She looks restless, but exhausted, and slightly (okay very) traumatized. He doesn't blame her - he's been there; the first interrogation that doesn't go quite like it should, and you end up needing stitches or a bandage, and something to ward off the shock. He knows she'll be okay, but he can't help himself, he has to know.

He has to be sure.

"He - um, Hey Nell." Callen approaches cautiously. "You good?"

"Yeah," Nell nods, fiddling with the hem of the too-big hoodie. "Deeks - he, uh, he told me not to, um, he told me - "

"Nell." he interrupts her, when her voice cracks and her eyes jerk around, unable to focus. "Hey, look at me."

She trips and stumbles over her words because it's all setting in. Her lips quiver and lashes flutter impatiently against her cheekbones, because it's all so damn frustrating. Her body won't cooperate, and it seems communication from her brain to her mouth has seemingly stopped, entirely.

"I didn't ask because I wanted you to lie to me, Jones." his lips curl slightly, because she's shaken and so is he and he'd give anything to see that smile. "Tell me the truth? Are you alright? Because, if not, we can get the hell out of here, right now."

The truth.

That's a foreign concept at NCIS.

Honestly? Her muscles ache, her eyes are burning with exhaustion, and she'd give anything to get the hell out of this damn boat shed and go home. She wants a hot shower, a glass of whiskey, and a warm bed.

She wants what is familiar and safe.

"Nell?"

"I just want to go home, G." her voice is hoarse, broken, and she barely recognizes it as her own. "Please?"

"Okay." Callen nods sharply, reaching into his pocket for his keys. "Let's go."

The blood in the interrogation room, her fingerprints on a knife and Brown's gun, and every other remnant of a day shot to hell is left behind for Hetty to deal with. Neither of them feel like cleaning up the mess of the day. Not when they haven't had a chance to process it, yet.

God help them, when they do.


	2. Safe

She's fresh from the shower and wearing one of his shirts.

It's an old button down from when she was a newbie and he had an ex-wife nobody knew about. Carribean blue and soft from the wear and tear of belonging to G. Callen; it hangs almost down to her knees and is falling off of one shoulder. She tugs her fingers through her hair, damp with the scent of fruit and soap as she makes her way into the living room.

"Feeling better?" Callen murmurs without looking up from his first edition Isaac Asimov.

It's her lack of response that concerns him.

When he looks up from his book, she's standing in the doorway of his living room and if it weren't for the fact that he's come to know her, he'd swear she's afraid of him. She's nibbling ferociously on her bottom lip, and her fingers are curled around the edge of his sleeves.

"Nell?"

"Callen, I - " Nell cuts herself off, because she cannot go there. She cannot do this in front of him. He is her superior. Her boss. But, he's also her friend. Her protector. Her, for lack of a better term, significant other.

"Nell," his book drops to the floor, and he's in front of her before she can blink. "Nell, talk to me?"

But, if she - if she opens her mouth, she can't say for sure a coherent sentence will come out. So, she does what she knows best, she spills information like she struck binary gold while data mining; "His name is Robert Brown. He attacked me in the interrogation room at the boat shed, earlier today."

"I know."

"I stabbed him in the shoulder and the leg." Nell's almost catatonic, and if it weren't for the doorframe, she'd be on her knees. "I stabbed him."

"It was self-defense. And, you did a damn good job." Callen reassures her. "You didn't kill him, Nell. He's going to be fine. Won't be walking for a while, and his shoulder is useless, but that's irrelevent, where he's going."

"Callen..."

"Yes, Nell?"

"I was almost killed, today." it finally settles in - not that he wasn't expecting it to, but he thought it'd sink in, in the form of nightmares, like she had with the Inman case.

It had taken a month of running on coffee and sugar for her to confess to him, one late night in the Ops room when he found her asleep on the keyboard, that she had nightmares about Inman killing her.

"But, we got you, Nell. You're okay."

He absently reaches for the front of her shirt, giving the fabric a light tug to pull her closer. When she's close enough to him, he wraps his arms around her, and pulls her into him. Nell Jones is _not_ one to be vulnerable, but when G. Callen voluntarily offers the comfort of his arms, she's willing to relent and be vulnerable. Her arms slip around his abdomen and she rests her head on his chest.

"I was scared." Nell breaks the comfortable silence with her confession, mumbled into the warm cotton of his t-shirt. "I thought he was going to kill me."

Callen doesn't want to admit how close Brown was to doing just that.

"But, he didn't." is all he can say because it's all that's going through his head at the moment. "He didn't. You're okay. You're here, with me. You're safe."

The words are whispered like a lullaby; soft and soothing and his hand tangled in her hair in slowly rubbing circles on her scalp. Yes. She could go to sleep like this. She could absolutely fall asleep standing up, if he continues. Little does she know, it's just as much for him, as it is for her.

Because, he's pretty sure he wouldn't be standing there, if she had been killed on his watch, today.

#

"Ow! Geez, G!"

"Sorry, Nell." Callen murmurs, dabbing at the wound on her forehead with an alcohol wipe. "It has to be cleaned."

She can't help but wince at the sting.

"I know he threw me, but who caught me?" she's been doing this for an hour, asking for small details to fill in the blanks. "Was it you? I know I woke up to you kneeling over me but..."

"Yeah. It was me." Callen squeezes Neosporin onto his thumb. "He threw you. You spun into the wall and I helped you to the floor. Sam took it from there."

"It wasn't your fault, G." she can practically feel the guilt emanating in waves. "You didn't know he was dangerous."

"I should have known."

"You couldn't have." Nell shakes her head. "I didn't and it's my job to find out that kind of information."

"It's not your fault, either." Callen laughs, because this is what she does. She takes on his guilt, and they'll play this game of who gets how much guilt before they give up. "If you won't let me take the blame, then I sure as hell won't let you."

His thumb smooths a protective layer of Neosporin over her wound, before he reaches for the butterfly bandage and rips open the paper packaging. He's almost positive it's not going to scar but if it does, it will be hidden by her eyebrow and her bangs. When he's finished cleaning and re-dressing her wounds, he leans down to catch her in a quick kiss.

Well, it was supposed to be quick.

But, the taste of whiskey is warm and fiery in his mouth and she licks into him easily. His hands find her hips, shirt bunching against his palm, and fingers hooking in the lacy waistband of her underwear. Her hands reach for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up, and over his head. While not perfectly carved like Sam, Callen is still lean and strong, and she revels in his heat.

"Not here, Nell. Not in the bathroom." his mouth moves against hers in an interesting way, and she can't help but giggle slightly at the sensation.

Callen picks her up easily and her legs lock around his waist. She's warm and soft and _alive_ and melting against him as he carries her to bed. Her shirt - because, there is no way she's giving it back - ends up on the floor, soon to be joined by her bra and panties and his jeans and underwear. It's a bit awkward and shy at first, feeling a little too much like their first time, but it's only because the remnants of the day still sit heavy on their nerves, and they can't quite shake it.

And, they'll both go into work exhausted the next day. Hetty will interrogate them both about the events that transpired in the boat-shed, remark about Nell's ability to handle the situation, and relieve Callen's guilt. Before they're released to go to work, she'll remind them to put this whole mess behind them.

So, they do.


End file.
